


holding my last breath

by thewayofthetrashcompactor (BriarLily)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Bars and Pubs, Canon Compliant, F/M, First Kiss, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 20:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BriarLily/pseuds/thewayofthetrashcompactor
Summary: Ben and Rey need more time to talk than the Force bond allows them. Meeting up proves to be as much as a challenge as everything else between them these days.





	holding my last breath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bittersnake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittersnake/gifts).



> Slightly belated birthday gift for mneme, who is a delight and deserves a wonderful and relaxing birthday. Hope you enjoy!

_ "Meet me,"  _ he'd said, in the last seconds before the Force dropped the vision between them. He'd barely had time to give her the name of a city on a planet she'd never heard of before he disappeared. 

Rey debates whether or not to go, but it's not really a choice. They need to talk, without relying on the Force's whims to give them the time to say everything that needs to be said. Like the rest of the Resistance, she's off on her own mission to try to get the resources they need to keep from falling apart. She'll rendezvous with Finn and Rose in a few days, but she has time for a detour. Instead of the planet she's meant to go to next, she sets her coordinates for the outer rim.

She enters the cantina and immediately spots Ben in a corner near the bar, despite his efforts to blend in. She can't say if it's a part of their connection, that she's so attuned to him -- even in the jumble of signatures in the cantina, his stands out, burning like a banked fire just waiting to flare -- or if it's just his inability to truly blend in anywhere. Even in the low light where creatures from a dozen different planets regard each other warily, something about the dark-haired humanoid hunched over his untouched mug, as if he can hide how tall and broad he is, screams that he doesn't belong. 

She hunches a bit herself as she steps inside, echoing the subtle defeat shown by most of the other patrons, the kind of thing that has led then to drink during daylight in a city little more than a fuel stop. Her hold on her staff stays tight, but not too tight, not a grip that'll say she's expecting trouble. Her hands itch to touch her lightsaber, but she knows better than that. The desperate people who spend their days here will be looking for any hint of valuables that could buy them their way out. She knows that too well, much better than Ben, whose hand drifts down to his belt as she approaches him from the side. 

She sits next to him, and his gaze locks on her from under his dark hood. Not black, thankfully, but the scraps he's put together in a vague attempt at a trader's robes don't get any lighter than a deep brown. She restrains herself from rolling her eyes even as her heart pounds faster. She gives him a subtle nod. The bartender ambles over and asks pointedly what she'll be drinking, and she pays them too many credits for a mug of the local grog, likely the same swill Ben's avoiding. The presumed owner of the place is a species she doesn't recognize, something short but with enough tentacles to reach above the bar, and their eyes flick suspiciously between her and Ben before deciding they don't care enough to bother. A pointed glare with narrowed eyes tells her not to make trouble in their bar before they go back to where they'd been leaning against the bar near another patron.

Ben sighs, a shuddering sound, and his hand slides from his mug to splay across the bar, closer to her. She doesn't know if the gesture is meant for her, but she rests her hand closer, until their fingers touch. Ben's breath leaves him in a rush and he stares pleadingly at her. They need to find somewhere more private. A low buzz of voices and glasses fills the background of the cantina, but not enough to cover what they have to say. She glances around, trying to keep the movement subtle. Maybe her time is the Resistance has made her paranoid, but she feels the eyes of too many others on them. Her mind flashes back to Takodana and how quickly they were found there and her heart skips a beat. 

She looks around again while pretending to take a sip of her drink. Even the press of it against her lips burns. Besides the entrance from the street, the cantina has a couple other openings along its walls, likely to the bathrooms and some other small spaces. She spots a  likely looking doorway near the bar, hopefully to some storeroom, and she sets her sights there. She drops her mug back to the bar, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then slides off her seat. She passes behind Ben, swaying close enough to whisper, " _ Wait, then follow, _ " then disappears down the short hallway.

The light from the main room barely reaches the end of the hall, where a single door waits. It's barely enough to conceal them, but the other option is dragging him back to her ship, and she can't see him being too keen on that. And she's not boarding his again. A few moments pass, and Ben slinks in after her, looking as hulking and suspicious as ever. He stands in front of her, hands fidgeting by his sides, face obscured by his makeshift hood. She reaches up and pushes it away, savoring the brush of his soft hair against her fingers and revealing the planes of his face, still cast half in shadow. She can make out the faded line of her brand across his cheek and has to keep herself from tracing it.

"Rey," he says, voice low. She swallows, willing her heart to settle. She can't let herself forget why they're here. 

"Ben," she replies. A slight shudder runs through him and he sways closer. Her hand lands on his chest, not pushing but present. "We don't have much time."

He nods. "The First Order --" he starts, but the words barely leave him before her ears pick up on another noise. Not quite footsteps, but a sort of slick squelching across the floor, growing closer. She looks up at Ben, eyes wide. "The bartender," she whispers.

"Kriff." His hand goes to his waist and his saber, but she drags him in the other direction, to the door. She presses a hand next to the door and unlocks it with a quick pressure from the Force, a technique that feels second nature for her. She pulls Ben inside with her and shuts the door behind them, locking it again. Maybe it's just her paranoia, and the bartender is just passing by. Maybe he's not interested in squeezing some quick credits from the more-suspicious-than-usual humanoids who decided to stop by his cantina. She nearly snorts out loud at that one. 

She barely dares to breathe as the sound of the creature moving across the floor keeps getting closer. What other reason would he have for coming this was than for the closet they're hiding in? Ben has his saber in his hand now, eyes fixed on the door as he presses tightly to her back and side. She knows the pair of them could take care of some backwater bartender in no time at all, but she'd prefer not to kill some stranger for trying to live their life out here. 

Her mind races as she tries to come up with a reasonable distraction for why the two of them are shoved into a closet, and her thoughts stick on couples she'd seen in Niima, wedged into all kinds of obscure corners for a chance at semi-privacy. She tries to come up with another solution, anything else, but her mind seems to have stuck on that one combined with the warm, firm press of Ben's body behind her. The squishing noises have nearly reached the door now, and she wriggles enough to turn around in the tight space.

Ben nearly chokes. "What are you --" he starts, but she doesn't let him finish. 

"Do you trust me?" she whispers fiercely, eyes searching for his in the dark. 

Only the light from around the door illuminates his face, but his expression shows clearly his shock that she'd even have to ask. "Always," he breathes. Something lurches forward just on the other side of the door. She thinks she can hear a tentacle reaching out, and she grabs the cowl around his neck and pulls him down to her, smashing her lips against his.

He doesn't breathe at first, and she wonders if he's going to pass out. That might work too, if the bartender sees her tending to his unconscious body. Probably not the first time they've dealt with that. But that stands a decent chance of getting whatever passes for law around here called on them, so she clutches Ben tighter to her and wills him to stay upright. She slips her fingers under his cowl and strokes his neck, lets her thumbs brush along his jaw in what she hopes is a comforting gesture. 

It works; his lips go from frozen against hers to gliding tentatively along them and his breath gusts against her cheek. She pushes onto her toes for a better angle, nudging her mouth further into his, ready to take more. His hands drift from his side to her waist, hovering at first, before she presses her body more fully into his. His heat is almost too much in this cramped space, but she welcomes it, feeling a thrill run through her when his hands clamp onto her hips, holding her to him. 

She claims him just as thoroughly, sliding one hand into his hair to tangle in it, soft strands wrapped around her fingers. She opens her lips against his, eager to know what he tastes like. Her tongue sweeps out: salt and caf. He groans and her mouth curves against his. She sucks, pulling his lip between hers, teeth scraping against it. Ben's fingers tighten, grabbing at her through her layers. A thrill runs through her, and she does it again. 

Her entire mind fills with nothing but Ben, eager and desperate against her, like if she lets go, it'll all be a dream. She breathes in the sweat and leather scent of him, underlain by a clean soapy spice; even in rags, the prince is never far away. Her chest presses closer, easing the ache that says she's not ready to part from him either. This is so much more than the brush of their hands in the darkness across worlds; she has him clutched to her now, and her scavenger instincts don't easily let go of what's hers. 

When the door opens, casting weak light across them, and a wet squeal pierces her ears, she nearly snarls, shoving Ben behind her like some salvage she has to defend. Ben's lips part from hers with a gasp, and the tentacled bartender stares at them, limbs flailing as it squeals again. She doesn't speak the language, but it's not hard to tell that their welcome has run out. She glares at them, and they narrow their eyes back. 

"Out!" they say in Basic

With her chin held high and a smirk on her lips, she grabs Ben's hand and stalks down the hallway and then out of the bar. The afternoon sun glares down at them in the street. Ben walks beside her, long legs keeping her swift pace, large hand wrapped around hers. 

"Where are we going?" he asks, tilting his head down towards hers. 

She turns her smirk up to him. "Somewhere private."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments always appreciated! (This is going to stay a oneshot though.)
> 
> You can also find me on [pillowfort as thelastjedi](https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/665932), [tumblr as thewayofthetrashcompactor](https://thewayofthetrashcompactor.tumblr.com), and [twitter as briartrash](https://twitter.com/briartrash/status/1141533257848283140?s=19)


End file.
